One and Together
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #23 Spock's daughter T'Beth cannot accept the fact that he is marrying Lauren Fielding-and she's not the only one opposed to the marriage. A surprise bachelor party and a trying wedding reception test Spock's Vulcan endurance, but at day's end he and his new spouse are truly "one and together".
1. Chapter 1

It was an unpleasant task, but one that had to be done. Spock needed to speak with his daughter, and as there were some minor matters demanding his attention aboard ship, it seemed only logical to bring T'Beth on board and tend to her at the same time. After all, she had never seen the Enterprise A—not that he expected even a Constitution-class starship to sweeten the teenager's mood after what had happened at Yosemite.

As he met her in Spacedock, her face was just as cold and sullen as the stormy night he returned her to Aunt Doris after the campout, the night she learned of his impending marriage to Doctor Fielding. Had it already been two days? T'Beth ignored his greeting and they rode the shuttle in silence. Once aboard the Enterprise, he made an attempt to show her a few points of interest, but she responded with complete indifference.

Spock cut the tour short. Taking T'Beth into his quarters, he stood near the door watching her meander, expressionless, through the first officer's cabin. At sixteen she was becoming a young woman. Now, more than ever, they should have been able to communicate. Yet the silence in the room was deeper than that between two strangers.

Stopping at his desk, she turned and looked at him for the first time. "You used to keep the holo of Mother right here next to your computer terminal."

Her words took Spock by surprise. This was one of the very reasons he had brought her aboard—to discuss, at long last, the matter of Adrianna's race and what T'Beth may have inherited from her. He said, "Yes, I remember. It was destroyed when the old Enterprise crashed."

Her hazel eyes studied him. "I can have another copy made for you."

"If you wish," Spock answered, inwardly bracing, "but it would be inappropriate for me to display it."

"Of course. You'll want to display _Lauren's_ picture." The sneering inflection clearly showed her low opinion of Spock's future wife.

He clamped down on a stirring of anger. He would not let himself be provoked. Later, he could school her on the matter of proper respect, but for now there might never be a better moment to broach the delicate subject of his daughter's Sy heritage. "T'Beth," he said carefully, "we need to talk about your mother."

T'Beth's face hardened. "You mean my Sy blood."

It was not easy for him to say it. "Yes."

"I already know—remember?"

He could not very well forget the ill-mannered way she had flaunted her knowledge to him only a few days ago. "Yes. You made that abundantly clear. But I am interested in knowing exactly what it was that Doctor McCoy told you."

Her eyes flashed. " _You_ should have been the one to tell me. But you didn't—did you?"

Spock doubted she would believe what he had to say, but he said it anyway. "It had been my intention to tell you everything when you first arrived on Earth. Unfortunately, I was called away."

"How convenient," she said with sarcasm.

Once more Spock chose to disregard her attitude. "Perhaps I should have told you sooner, but it seemed such a heavy burden to lay on a child."

Turning aside, she tucked a few strands of dark hair behind the hybrid ears that had always embarrassed her. "I've never forgotten what you once told me," she said in a voice shaky with emotion. " 'Concern yourself only with reality—accept the truth and live with it. To do anything less is to fool yourself'. What happened? Did you change your mind about that?" She swung around and looked at him, her eyes awash with angry tears. "Or don't you even remember anymore?"

"I remember," he admitted with some chagrin. "In retrospect it seems a rather harsh thing to say to a child of eleven."

"Yeah, well, you said it."

Spock moved beside his desk and considered his words with extra care. "T'Beth, I am sure Doctor McCoy did an excellent job of explaining…the possible implications of your Sy blood. However, I want to be sure of two things. First, that you realize the Sy way is no less natural than the human way or the Vulcan way—and second, that you realize how easily it can be misinterpreted by non-Sydoks. I know from painful experience. That is why…you must take care."

"You think I'm turning into one—don't you? That I'm going to be Sy-witch like Mother."

Shaking his head, he gently corrected her. "A _Sy-jeera,_ T'Beth. Whether or not you inherit the tendency is unimportant. What matters is that you understand it…and respect it. To that end I have prepared some research that I think you'll find interesting." Taking a computer disc from his desk drawer, he held it out to her.

She gave it a derisive glance. "So that's going to take care of it—a little biology lesson. That's going to take care of everything."

"No," he said, "not everything. But it is a good beginning."

Frowning, she took the disc from his hand and slipped it into her pocket. Then moving away from him, she resumed her slow study of the cabin. Her fingertips trailed across the tops of his chess pieces, knocking the white queen on its side. She did not bother to put it back. Pausing at his sleeping alcove, she peered in and said, "I guess Doctor Fielding is a lot different from Mother."

"Yes," Spock said, "she is. And yet she also possesses an indefinable quality somehow reminiscent of Adrianna."

She turned and looked at him. "Is that why you're marrying her? Because she reminds you of my mother?"

Spock very nearly sighed. "No, T'Beth. Lauren is a unique individual."

"Then you're really going to do it, aren't you? You're really going to marry that…that—"

"Starfleet doctor," he interposed firmly. "Yes. I am."

She glared at him. "She'll never replace my mother."

"Of course not," Spock agreed, "however, you _will_ treat Lauren with respect. I am telling you this once, and once only."

T'Beth's face twitched and she quickly turned away, her slender hand tightening on the room divider.

Spock thought it best to move on to the next subject. It had long troubled him that, due to his career, he could not provide the kind of family life T'Beth expected when she was younger. These days he no longer knew what she wanted from him. "For now," he said, "Lauren and I will keep our positions here aboard the Enterprise. If repairs proceed according to schedule, we will not ship out until the tenth of July."

"Lauren and you," T'Beth choked out, her back to him. "Lauren and you. What about you and me? Doesn't that matter anymore?"

"It matters," Spock said levelly. "However, you must realize—"

"Sure," she interrupted, "I realize, alright. The Enterprise is the important thing—and so is _she."_

Spock struggled to comprehend. "You have given every indication that you no longer want me in your life. Have I misread you?"

She kept her face averted.

Finally he said, "If you really want time with me, you will have your opportunity. It is Lauren's wish—and mine—that you spend the weeks preceding our wedding with us at her house on the beach."

T'Beth swung around and stared at him, open-mouthed. "Do I have to?"

Spock's eyebrow climbed. He had foolishly believed she would be pleased to visit the seaside. He had almost passed beyond the point of trying to comprehend her. "I am sorry if you find it inconvenient," he curtly replied, "but yes. You will come."

"This is my punishment, then? For the trouble at school?"

"I would hardly call a vacation at the beach 'punishment'."

"Then what is?"

That much had also been decided. "I have secured a summer position for you at Starfleet Medical Center. You begin work tomorrow."

 _"A job?"_ her voice rose. Spock could almost see her brain calculating behind that brash exterior. "How much does it pay?"

"I believe," he said dryly, "that you have volunteered."

"You're making me _work?_ For _nothing?"_

"To the contrary," Spock said. "You will be putting your time to valuable use caring for the sick and injured—and learning, I would hope, that compassion and healing are far more beneficial than anger and violence."

She stood silent, her eyes simmering. "I'm not going to handle any stinking bedpans."

The look of rebellion on her face made Spock all the more determined that she would obey him. "You will do as you are told," he sternly, "and I do not expect any problems."

"So that's it?" she flared. "You've decided where I'm going to live. You've decided what I'm going to do. Doesn't it matter what _I_ want?"

"Not in this instance," Spock said with finality. "You will come below with me now and we will get your belongings. Then we are going to Lauren's house."

He started for the door as if he had every confidence she would follow, but her feet remained stubbornly rooted to the spot. With a sinking feeling Spock realized that one of these days he might lose control of her completely—but he was not willing to accept that it might already have happened. Fixing her with a searing look of disapproval, he said, "Could it be that you did not hear me?"

This time, she followed.

oooo

T'Beth sat brooding near the top of the stairs, one arm hooked through the smooth wooden banister. The old house creaked and groaned as if it were alive, its joints protesting the damp morning cold pressing in on it. The rising of the sun had brought more fog. It would be hours before it burned off and the day grew warm enough for swimming.

Suddenly T'Beth heard Lauren and her father talking down in the kitchen. Curious, she tiptoed to the foot of the stairs and listened. They were discussing the wedding again, as if they had not already exhausted every fussy little detail. The closer it got to the actual day, the tighter T'Beth's stomach knotted. Each time her father called Lauren "aisha"—beloved—it made her want to throw up.

But this conversation was different. Edging closer to the kitchen door, she strained to hear. There was a problem about the Vulcan ceremony? T'Beth's heart beat faster as she took in the words.

She heard her father say, "The healer will not agree to perform the ritual without first touching your mind."

"Because I'm human? "Lauren asked.

"Because it is the custom," Father explained. "I have already submitted to her touch."

"But…" Lauren sounded very reluctant. "Spock, I don't know. I don't like it. After what happened with Sybok…"

"I understand why you are fearful," Father said, "but this kind of mental contact in no way resembles what Sybok did to you. You can trust T'Mira. It was her patience and skill that helped bring about my recovery." A pause, then, "The marriage ceremony will also involve T'Mira's mental participation in a deeper form. Should you decide against it, there can be no proper bonding."

"But maybe there's something else we can do. Some other way."

Firmly Father said, "The healer's wishes must be honored."

No one spoke for a while. Then Lauren broke the silence, a brittle edge to her voice. "Is that the only thing that's important to you? T'Mira's wishes? Then maybe you should marry _her."_

T'Beth smiled to herself. _Good girl. Stand your ground. Don't give in to him._

"Aisha," Father said gently.

There it was again. With a sound of disgust, T'Beth left her listening post and headed for the front door.

"T'Beth?" Lauren called out in a changed tone.

Ignoring her, T'Beth went outside and let the door bang shut. Why did Lauren always act so darned nice toward her? Deep down Lauren probably didn't even want her around, Spock's pain in the neck daughter, always getting in the way. It made T'Beth uncomfortable staying in her house.

Hopping off the porch, she ran down to the beach and jogged along the wet sand. Seagulls keened overheard. Breakers churned and foamed almost to her feet, but she hardly saw them. Her life was falling apart. Did anyone notice? Did anyone care? Aunt Doris just kept telling her to "make the best of it", and so did Doctor McCoy. Her one and only friend Kevin was off on vacation with his parents. And as for Jim…

Coming to a stop, she gazed out at the ocean waves and hugged herself against the chill. She had been calling Jim Kirk every time she got the chance—he never returned the calls, and had sent only one brief, impersonal text message. But there had been nothing impersonal about the way he kissed her at Yosemite. The memory tore at her. Jim had said they must never kiss again, but she couldn't turn her feelings on and off like a faucet. How could he? Unless, of course, his fleeting moment of desire was only a Sy-induced reflection of her own—just like it said on the disc Father gave her…

Now she heard Spock's skimmer approaching along the beach, and right on schedule it landed beside her. Climbing aboard, she slumped into the passenger seat and triggered the door shut. When she had fastened her seat belt, they arced into the air and flew inland.

Staring out the side window she asked, "So…did you two finish your fight?"

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit to acquire," he said, obviously not in the best of moods—although he would have denied experiencing anything as human as a mood.

"How else am I supposed to find out anything?"

"You might ask," he suggested.

"Okay then," she said, "I'm asking. Who is Sybok and what did he do to Lauren?"

He stiffened.

"I remember hearing that name once before," she persisted, "when you were arguing with Sarek on Vulcan. During the big storm. The night you left for Seleya." In the silence T'Beth sighed and crossed her arms. Oh yes, he remembered alright, but he wasn't talking. "See what I mean? You only answer me if you feel like it—but woe to me if _I_ don't answer one of _your_ questions. It's not fair. I think that parents should—" But what was the use?

"Someday," he said unexpectedly, "I will tell you about Sybok. For now, I ask you never to mention his name to Sarek. It is…culturally forbidden."

 _Forbidden? But you did,_ T'Beth thought, staring at his stony profile. Aloud she said, "Okay. Now I have another question. Is the marriage off?"

"That question," he declared, "does not merit a response." They were halfway to the medical center before he spoke again. "I am disappointed in you, T'Beth. More than a week has passed, and it seems that you have not even made an effort to accept Lauren. And as for this practice of lurking behind closed doors—"

"You're right," she cut in. "I shouldn't have mentioned the fight. It was stupid to give myself away like that. Next time I'll be smarter."

Spock turned from the controls and looked at her. "There will be no 'next time'."

 _That's what you think,_ T'Beth's glare told him, but nothing more was said. At Starfleet Medical Center they parked and, much to her embarrassment, Spock walked her in as he did each day, personally depositing her with her supervisor. Only after he disappeared out the door did she begin to relax.

It had become one of her most closely guarded secrets. Once she had made it through the first difficult day or two she had discovered that she liked it here—that, in fact, she actually enjoyed this daily time away from the beach house, away from the tension she felt every time Father and his paramour came near her. It was ironic. What was supposed to have been punishment was turning out to be the best part of her summer. The simple duties she performed gave her a real sense of satisfaction. No one criticized her, even when she made a mistake. They just showed her how to do things the right way. And the appreciation she received from the patients made her feel good about herself.

After changing into her volunteer uniform, she began collecting breakfast trays from the east wing patients. There had been several new admissions overnight. All young, all injured, some hurt too badly to eat any solid food.

She paused at one bedside and stared into the healing glow of a burn unit. The human girl inside hardly seemed any older than herself. Much of her dark hair had been singed in whatever accident injured her, but her youthful face bore only a few marks. Dark, distinctly Asian eyes looked quietly at T'Beth.

"Hi," the girl said in a weak voice.

"Hi," T'Beth answered. "Are you okay?" A dumb thing to say, considering.

"Yeah," he girl replied. "I'm okay. At least I'm alive. Some of us weren't so lucky."

T'Beth moved closer to the field. "Do you mind if I ask…what happened?"

The almond-shaped eyes closed for a moment, then reopened with a chilling look of remembered pain. "Border Patrol. The Sy-Don Treaty Zone. The Donari attacked…no reason…no warning."

T'Beth's mind raced. Despite her Sy blood, she had never paid much attention to the politics of that region. She was only vaguely aware of an ongoing conflict between the Sydoks and Donaris. As she recalled, the Donaris were a desert-bred race—somewhat like the Vulcans, or what Vulcans had once been. Openly savage, warlike. She knew from her own family history how they had plundered and used their sister planet even after Sydok came under the protection of the Federation.

"I…have a Sy grandfather," she found herself saying. She had not thought of it in a long time. Now she wondered if he was still alive, and if she might ever meet him.

"You're part Vulcan, too," the girl said. "Aren't you?"

T'Beth nodded. "Were you on a patrol ship?"

"An SP-12 fighter—my first tour. Gunner Lelia Chan, second class."

"T'Beth," she introduced herself.

Three times during her shift she came back to Chan's bedside, and though the girl slept, T'Beth was reassured to see that her vital signs were steadily improving.

oooo

It was past noon when Lauren pushed back from her biocomp and sighed in annoyance. No use even pretending to do any research. The steady thunk, thunk, thunking sound out in the yard had effectively shredded what little remained of her concentration.

Going to the front windows, she drew back a curtain and peeked outside. She watched Spock wield the old posthole digger, repeatedly slamming the twin blades into the soil, gouging, scooping, scraping out the groundwork of a geometrically perfect fence line. Wearing an old pair of her brother's Levis and a faded shirt, he was a grim study in Vulcan determination. This was one useful lesson he had learned among the Klingons—that hard physical labor could sometimes calm and clear the mind as well as any meditation.

How symbolic that he had chosen to vent his frustration on this particular project, at this particular time. The property had been without its weathered picket fence ever since the whale-probe storm demolished it. She could have hired the work done. But no—he would do it himself—a precise, flawless corral around the beach house, around his daughter, around her.

The sun was piercing through the fog when she went outside. Spock had finished digging. As he dropped the last post, lopsided, into its prepared hole, he paused and looked at her. She came down off the porch. Taking hold of his dirty hands, she turned them palm-side up and examined the blisters.

"Well, doctor?" he said.

She felt the last of her anger melting away. Sheepishly she gazed into his eyes. "I don't really want you to marry T'Mira…and I know you won't be content with anything less than a Vulcan bonding. You shouldn't have to be. And neither should I. But Spock…" fear crept into her voice, "what if the healer does this mindtouch and still refuses to marry us?"

Gently Spock closed his sore fingers around hers. With all the finality of a promise, he said, "She will not refuse."

An hour later they stood before the healer at the Vulcan embassy in San Francisco. Spock, in his civilian best, exuded an outward appearance of calm dignity that Lauren envied. Butterflies flitted through her stomach as the austere Vulcan woman invited her to sit down beside her on a small sofa.

Then the healer said, "Spock. You will please wait in the next room."

Lauren flashed Spock a look of pure panic, but his eyes told her to cooperate, there was no cause for alarm. With a slight bow to the healer, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Lauren swallowed hard.

"You must not be anxious," the healer said with unusual warmth for a Vulcan. "I will not harm you. It is like…asking a question. All you need do is answer."

"What if…" Lauren's voice wavered, "if I don't _know_ the answer?"

"You will know."

Inwardly trembling, Lauren closed her eyes, flinching slightly as the strange hot fingers met her face. _Why hadn't Spock prepared her for this? Why hadn't he told her the answer?_

Then, all at once, T'Mira's question found her mind and she nearly laughed with relief and astonishment. Even had Spock revealed the healer's question—for surely she had asked him, too—he could not have answered it for her. Only Lauren could answer for her own feelings, for her commitment to Spock and their bond. And only by looking into her mind could the healer rule out every possibility of deceit.

"Yes!" The word filled her, bubbling up into a joyous rush of language. "Yes, T'Mira, I do! I will!"

oooo

T'Beth was sure, quite sure, that as long as she lived she would never understand her father. Take this fence, for instance. As the last of the warming sun disappeared into the ocean, she sat on the porch steps, chin in hand, watching him laboriously paint the final pickets a pure gleaming white. She found the whole thing vaguely embarrassing. He was a scientist, a Starfleet officer—not a handyman. It had been bad enough when Torlath forced him to work like a slave. Given a choice, why would he dig and hammer and paint on a piece of property that did not even belong to him, did not even entirely belong to Lauren? Her brother owned half of it. And from what T'Beth had picked up, Spock's future brother-in-law was not too pleased about the upcoming marriage. Well, neither was she.

T'Beth tensed as Lauren came out on the porch. "It's beautiful!" she called to Spock. "I especially like the gate."

"A Vulcan design," Spock said, straightening. "I had to improvise, but even so I think the latch came out well."

As he carried the paint and tools around back, Lauren turned to T'Beth. "Well…tomorrow's the big day."

Without saying anything, T'Beth got up and went into the house. She was sitting at the old piano, listlessly plucking out a somber tune, when the phone rang. She answered it, and the sight of Doctor McCoy on the screen momentarily lifted her spirits.

"So," he said to her, "how are the three of you getting along?"

Her face fell. "Just great. I can't wait until the 'Big Day'."

"I bet," he said dryly. Then, with a funny little smile, "Say, is that father of yours around? I need to borrow him for a couple of hours."

T'Beth found him out in the dusk with Lauren. The two were so absorbed in one another that they did not even acknowledge her approach.

"Father," she said, all too happy to tear him away. The hand that had been touching Lauren dropped. Turning, he looked at her. "Doctor McCoy's on the phone. He wants you to come over." Maybe Jim would be there, too. Following her father into the house, she asked, "Can I come along?"

"Perhaps," he said.

But the brief phone conversation made it disappointingly clear—this time only Spock was invited. In a matter of minutes he showered and was back downstairs in clean civilian clothes. Before leaving, he took T'Beth aside.

"I trust," he said, meeting her eyes, "that you will find something to do while I am gone."

"Something harmless, you mean?"

"Then we understand one another."

She nodded. In this instance, she understood him well enough. As the sound of his skimmer faded, she found herself standing in the living room with the object of her father's concern. They silently appraised one another for a long moment.

"Well," Lauren said with the hint of a smile, "it's been quite a while, hasn't it? The last time we were alone together, you sent me on a wild goose chase through the Enterprise. It took me ages to find my way to Engineering. Clever little imp."

"I did that to everyone," T'Beth said, "who was stupid enough to ask for directions."

Lauren sighed and sat down. Her troubled blue eyes searched T'Beth's face. "I'm glad we finally have this chance to talk—just the two of us. I'm afraid your father's been standing guard over me as if…"

"He's worried about what I might say to you."

"He shouldn't be, because I really want to hear what you're thinking, what you're feeling. I know you don't want us to marry. I know you don't even want me in your father's life, and I can't say that I blame you. I probably wouldn't feel much different in your position. But T'Beth—believe it or not, it won't be half as bad as you think. In fact, there may even be some advantages to having me around."

"But you're not going to be around," T'Beth coolly pointed out. "You're going to be aboard the Enterprise. Both of you."

Lauren looked at her with maddening sympathy. "That's true—and it isn't fair, is it? Starfleet is awfully hard on families."

"Oh, don't blame Starfleet," T'Beth said. "There are plenty of ground assignments. Father doesn't have to be on a starship."

"You're sure of that."

"Yes, I'm sure!" T'Beth's voice rose. "He could be off that ship in a minute if he really wanted to, if he really gave a damn. But no—he's never thought of me as family. _His_ family is on Vulcan. _His_ family is aboard the Enterprise. And now it looks like you're going to be part of it. Well, congratulations!" Flushed with anger, she headed for the stairs.

Lauren stood. "T'Beth! Wait!"

T'Beth stopped at the base of the stairs and looked daggers at her.

"T'Beth," Lauren said, not at all angrily, "I really am glad you've been so honest. You've given me a lot to think about."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" T'Beth's voice dripped sarcasm. Turning away, she ran up to her room.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim Kirk leaned back on McCoy's couch and looked over the small gathering of his friends. McCoy, already into the bourbon, looked relaxed out of uniform. For that matter, so did Scotty and Sulu. Jim, it seemed, was the only nervous one, though he was careful not to show it. He had not seen Spock since the campout. He wondered how it would feel facing the Vulcan, if any of the awkwardness had melted away over the past few weeks. Lord knows, he had worked hard to distance himself, physically and emotionally, from Spock's daughter. That kiss at Yosemite should never have happened, but he couldn't take it back now. He could only hold his head up and try his best to live with it.

The doorbell chimed. Everyone stood and began talking at once. McCoy frowned and put a finger to his lips. Setting down his drink, he headed for the door and reappeared a moment later with Spock at his side.

"Surprise!" everyone called out.

Spock eyed the group with an amusing mixture of astonishment and confusion. "I… _am_ surprised," he conceded.

Kirk stepped forward and clapped him on the back. "Just a little pre-wedding get together, my friend. It's an old Earth custom."

"A bachelor party," Sulu grinned.

Spock looked at him. "But Hikaru, you are not a bachelor."

 _"He_ doesn't have to be," Kirk patiently explained. "Only you, Spock."

"Aye," put in Scotty, "ye'll have a fine time. A little whiskey, a little—"

"A little conversation," Kirk said with a wink. "Don't worry, Spock, it will all be very tasteful." At that he put his arm to Spock's back, propelled him fully into the living room, and seated him in a chair.

McCoy poured bourbon. Soon everyone, including the reluctant Vulcan, had a drink in hand.

Scotty shook his head in mock dismay. "Mister Spock—I still canna hardly believe it. Deserting the ranks, after all these years."

"A regular turncoat, Kirk agreed.

Spock's eyebrow edged upward. "I beg your pardon?"

McCoy sputtered. "Deserting the ranks of bachelorhood, you green-blooded, lame-brained—"

"Now, now," Kirk admonished. "We're here to toast the guest of honor, not roast him." Lifting his glass high, he said, "To the exalted state of marital bliss."

Everyone took a drink but Spock, who was no doubt picturing himself roasting over an open fire.

"A sip," Kirk urged, "just a sip, Spock."

The Vulcan cautiously complied.

"To deserters," Sulu toasted. "To turncoats."

McCoy stood and solemnly raised his glass. "To Lady Lauren, the maiden fair…who lives down by the ocean air…"

"Aye." Scotty sighed and took a deep drink. "She's a fine figure of a woman. An' Doctor McCoy, ye're a fine poet."

McCoy took a bow, then went about refilling glasses, adding a splash to Spock's even though his level of bourbon had not visibly dropped. Holding the bottle in one hand, he lifted his glass high. "To Spock, God bless him. I taught him how to drink. Jim taught him how to curse. Now with a little bit of luck…Laurie will teach him how to—"

" _Pluck_ ," Kirk interjected, "his lyrette…in a _beautiful_ love song."

There were hoots and laughter. Spock looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"To wives," toasted Sulu.

"To lovers," offered Scotty.

McCoy ducked out of the room for minute and came back with a sinfully rich-looking chocolate cake. "Sorry," he apologized to Spock, "it came out too small to have a Vulcan priestess jump out of it like Jim planned. This whole damn thing, incidentally, was his idea."

Scotty gave a knowing nod. "It has all the _ear_ marks."

Spock shook his head, more puzzled than ever. "Earmarks? Is that meant to be humorous or derogatory? And as for the Vulcan priestess—"

McCoy shoved a dish of cake into his hand. "Eat, Spock. Go ahead, your system can handle it. It can probably handle the plate, too."

Lifting his fork, Spock sampled a tiny morsel of the confection. He frowned. "Doctor, I suspect this is made with refined sugar."

"Spock," McCoy said impatiently, "for Pete's sake, what are you suggesting? Do you think I'd try to get you intoxicated the night before your wedding?"

Spock looked as if he considered it a distinct possibility, but he ate more of the cake anyway. As Kirk worked away at his own piece, he found that he was actually starting to relax and enjoy the evening. He washed down the cake with more bourbon. Then, as everyone watched with expectation, he picked a brightly wrapped package off a side table and put it on Spock's lap.

The Vulcan eyed the gift with suspicion.

"We all chipped in," Kirk said, biting back a grin. "It'll give you… _hours_ of pleasure."

"Aye," Scotty nodded, "many, many hours."

Spock glanced from one man to another, then cautiously peeled back the wrapping paper from his gift. He stared at it, deadpan. "A book."

"It's an antique," Kirk said, "like the book you gave me on my birthday. Remember, Spock?"

Picking up the worn volume, Spock puzzled over the faded words of its title. "I am not sure of the pronunciation…or the language. 'Kama…Sutra'?"

Scotty and Sulu looked ready to burst. McCoy snorted. "Why Spock, you mean you're not familiar with it? Old India. Ancient Earth."

"That was not part of my re-education." Curious, Spock opened to the middle of the volume. His eyes widened as he took in the sexually explicit details of an illustration. His slanted eyebrows climbed. His face flushed green as he flipped the pages and found countless pair of naked humans, each engaged in ever more inventive couplings.

The men started to break up. Kirk joined in the laughter until his sides ached and Spock's lips pressed together in a thin, very unamused line.

Closing the book, Spock punished each and every one of them with a severe look. "Bastards," he said. "Now I suppose I am expected to thank you."

Kirk wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Well, that _would_ be polite."

The Vulcan glared at him.

"Ye donna like it?" cried Scotty. "Why, Mister Spock, I'm surprised! Have ye no appreciation of the classics?"

McCoy pointed a bony finger at Kirk. "I told you, Jim. Didn't I tell you? You should have picked up the Vulcan edition."

As the men roared with fresh amusement, Spock rose and glared at them through narrowed eyes. The laughter died.

"Uh-oh," Sulu said, shrinking down in his seat.

Kirk had also seen that expression on Spock's face before and, like Sulu, knew what it meant. They had just about pushed Spock to his Vulcan limit. Getting up, he said, "Well I, for one, could use some fresh air. Spock, want to come outside with me?"

Warily the Vulcan complied.

It was pleasantly cool in the walled garden of McCoy's backyard. Tiny lights outlined the walkway, casting a pale glow over the flowerbeds. They walked to the back of the yard.

Quietly Kirk said, "Spock, I hope you're not really angry. It's just our way…"

"Yes." Spock sounded tired. "I know." After a moment of hesitation he said, "Jim, there are a couple of matters I would like to discuss with you."

Kirk felt a stab of uneasiness. "Sure," he said casually. "What is it?"

It took Spock awhile to begin. "The first is…T'Beth."

The breath caught in Kirk's throat. So this was it. T'Beth had gone to him, after all. Spock knew about the kiss. Funny that he could feel so cold when his face was turning so hot.

"She is very fond of you," Spock continued.

Kirk's guilty blush deepened and he shifted miserably. With a Vulcan's superior night vision, Spock could probably see that his face was as red as one of McCoy's geraniums. In a minute it would turn blood red when Spock hauled off and knocked him on his philandering ass. "Yes…" was all he could bring himself to say. "She is."

Spock gazed off into the darkness. "You do not have to answer this, and perhaps I have no right to ask it—but has she ever spoken to you about…our difficulties?"

"Difficulties?" Kirk echoed uncertainly. "You mean…between you and T'Beth?"

Spock nodded, and Kirk felt every muscle in his body relax. "Yes," he admitted, "she has—but only in a broad sense."

"She does not want me to marry," Spock said.

"Uh-huh. She's jealous."

Spock swung around and even in the dark Kirk could see the deep concern on his face. "That is also Lauren's opinion."

"I think Lauren's right, Spock. I remember when T'Beth was jealous of our friendship. Maybe she still is, sometimes."

Spock said, "I appreciate the kindness and attention you show her."

The knife of guilt sank deeper. Kirk came dangerously close to confessing, but what good would come of relieving his conscience, now of all times? _No. Best keep it to himself._

Out in the harbor a ship's horn sounded. Taking a breath, Kirk said, "Well, are you ready for tomorrow?"

Spock stood a little taller. "Actually, I was going to phone you this evening. Lauren has decided to wear a wedding ring. She tells me that I could use—what is it called—a 'better man'?"

"I think you mean 'best man'. He's the one who hands the ring to the groom."

Spock nodded. "If it is not too late, I would like you to perform that function at the ceremony."

A few minutes ago Kirk feared he would be banned from the wedding—and the Vulcan's life. Now Spock wanted him as his best man? He found himself retreating behind a safe wall of humor. "Wait a minute, Spock. The last time I joined your wedding party, you tried to kill me."

Spock looked as if his patience was slipping again. "That, Jim, was kun-ut-kal-if-fee."

"That, Spock, was _murder,"_ Kirk mimicked good-naturedly. "Nevertheless, I will proudly consent to be your best man—provided that I get first choice of weapons and a dance with the bride."

"Jim," Spock began, now clearly exasperated, "my situation is far different from that of…my first attempt at marriage on Vulcan. Not all Vulcans wait for…their Time."

Kirk's eyebrow lifted. "I was wondering about that…"

Spock averted his face, clearly as self-conscious as when they first discussed Vulcan biology many long years ago, on the Enterprise. "In my case," he said with difficulty, "it could be a lengthy wait, indeed. I have only experienced…that condition…on the occasion of which you are familiar, and even then it was incomplete. It is not likely to ever trouble me again."

Kirk detected a definite note of relief in Spock's voice, and no wonder. As he understood it, the pon farr was a mindless, brutal state of sexual arousal—not something a human bride was likely to appreciate, although Spock's own mother seemed to be surviving Sarek's seven year cycles well enough.

He put his hand on the Vulcan's shoulder. "Thanks for asking me to be your best man, Spock. I'll be there for you tomorrow." As Spock turned toward him, he could not resist adding, "Now you'd better get on home while you can still navigate. I think you've had a little too much cake and bourbon."

Spock gave him a sharp look. "The cake—"

Kirk shrugged and tried his best to look innocent. "Hey, don't blame me. I didn't bake it."

oooo

T'Beth lay in bed, thumbing through the worn pages of her mother's diary. It was strange reading about Father through Adrianna's eyes—the eyes of a woman in love. But love had not brought her mother very much happiness. She seemed to have spent most of her time anguishing over it. Though she never mentioned the word "Sy-jeera", she had clearly noticed how men reacted to her interest and had come to distrust that response.

T'Beth had experienced powerful emotions all her life. On Vulcan she learned how to hold back her feelings when she was around telepaths. Just touching a Vulcan could give him or her the mental equivalent of an electric shock. All it took was a little concentration and a bellyful of good honest rage. She would never forget her father's pained reaction when, at eleven, she accidentally stung him. It was something she had never done to him again, no matter how mad she got.

Now she knew the source of that emotional outpouring—her Sy blood. She had read about in the information Father gave her; she had studied every word and found herself hungry for more. Every day at work she talked to Lelia Chan about the Sy-Don conflict. Lelia was getting anxious to go back to her unit and rejoin "the battle for peace" on the other side of the galaxy. That's what she called it. She had a way of talking that sparked the imagination. Under her influence, T'Beth had quietly started following the border news. She had also made some inquiries about the Border Patrol, but that was not something she wanted Father to know about. He would throw a Vulcan fit over it, and she would soon be in enough trouble for smarting off at his "beloved".

There was a knock on her bedroom door. T'Beth's heart jumped. This was it. He was home and Lauren had told on her.

Hurriedly she stuffed the diary under her pillow and turned out the light. "I'm sleeping," she called out in a good imitation of a drowsy voice.

"T'Beth…" It was only Lauren. "Can I come in and talk to you—just for a minute?"

T'Beth sighed and drove her fist into the pillow. She did not want Goody-Lauren-Two-Shoes in the room, but maybe if she tried to act agreeable, tried to smooth things over a little, Father wouldn't tear into her when he got back. "Okay," she said, leaving the lamp off.

Lauren came in and stood by the bed, a slim silhouette framed by the hall light. "T'Beth," she said in that impossibly sweet voice of hers, "I'm really concerned about this. You have to understand that I meant exactly what I said. I _am_ glad you were frank with me, even if you weren't very polite. I wouldn't lie to you—and I wouldn't carry tales to your father."

T'Beth sat up, almost wishing she could believe her. "But he's Vulcan. He'll find out, regardless, even if you don't mean to tell on me. And he's going to be pissed."

"Don't worry about it," Lauren said. "There's bound to be some friction while we're getting to know one another. Spock will understand that."

"Are we talking about the same Spock?" T'Beth asked with a return of the old sarcasm. Outside, she heard a skimmer landing. "Wait," she quickly said as Lauren started to turn away. "Not that I'm taking anything back…but I apologize for the way I said it."

Lauren smiled. "Apology accepted."

After the door closed, T'Beth lay in the dark listening to the intimate sound of their voices drifting up through the stairwell. The two of them were so proper, right down to separate bedrooms. T'Beth's own room felt and strange and desolate. Some sad, frightened part of her wanted to run toward the light downstairs and throw herself into her father's arms. _Don't do it, don't marry her—I don't want to be alone!_

Hot tears wet her pillow as she remembered the precious time following his return to life, when she'd had him all to herself, when he had actually paid attention to her, actually seemed to need her. Well, he didn't need her anymore. Now he needed Lauren, instead. And tomorrow the two of them would start down a path she would never be able to follow.

She felt a sick stirring in the pit of her stomach and climbed out of bed. The sound of the ocean surf beckoned to her from a partly opened window. She could make out the form of Father's skimmer parked below. Soon they would be asleep and maybe she could sneak it away. She'd never wanted to come here in the first place. But where would she go? Back to Aunt Doris? Father would find her there in a minute.

She decided to pack anyway. As her hand reached for the lamp there was a footfall outside her room, then a firm knock.

"T'Beth," Father called through the door.

Standing in the dark, T'Beth wiped her teary face on her pajama sleeve. "Go away!"

Spock came in and turned on the main light switch. T'Beth backed toward the window. "She told you what I said, didn't she? I _knew_ I couldn't trust her!"

Strange, but she could not detect any sign of reproach in her father's eyes. "T'Beth," he said almost gently, "I only came to see if you are alright."

"Really?" she said with skepticism. "Well, I'm not. I wish I were dead."

"Because of tomorrow?"

"That—and other things."

Father looked at her with some of the old exasperation. "It is a wedding, T'Beth, not a funeral. Afterward I will be the same person that I am now."

"But you've already changed," T'Beth accused. "Ever since you met her, you're been moving away from me."

An eyebrow climbed. "Interesting," he said under his breath. "It has seemed to me that you are the one pulling away."

She fought down the beginnings of a sob. "Yeah, I know. It's all _my_ fault—right?"

"I do not see any point in laying blame." Moving to her side of the room, he sat down on the bed and touched the place beside him. "Come. Sit by me for a moment."

T'Beth held back. _What did he want? What good would it do?_ Even when they tried to talk, it always ended up the same. But a little corner of her still wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, it could be different this time.

Slowly, hesitantly, she went over to him and sat down. To her surprise she felt his arm go around her in a humanlike gesture of comfort. At first the contact seemed awkward, but then the pleasant warmth of his touch started to relax her and she found herself leaning against him as if she were a small, frightened child. The feeling of nearness reminded her of a dream she once had.

Quietly she said, "After you died…I dreamt you were running through the Enterprise on your way to the engine room, and I was right behind you. I knew what you were going to do. I knew what was going to happen. When you dropped down on one knee to open a hatch, I got down, too, and hugged you around the waist. I held on as tight as I could. I had to stop you, but you were too strong for me. One way or another you were going through that hatch and—" she stopped, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Resting her head on his chest, she said, "That's how I feel now. As if—"

"You are not going to lose me," he said, his breath noticeably smelling of Doctor McCoy's bourbon. "I will continue to be your father whether or not I take a wife."

Her hand closed on his shirt. "Then stay here with me and _be_ my father."

He was so silent that she could hear his blood pulsing against her ear. Then he said, "The most I will be gone is six months."

"Six _months,"_ she groaned. "And then what? Another six—or eight—or even ten? Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll see you once a year? Maybe twice before I turn eighteen?"

His chest rose and fell. He began to say something, then stopped suddenly and started over in a different, decisive tone of voice. "No, T'Beth. You are right. The situation is just not acceptable. I will…see what can be done."

Straightening, T'Beth stared at him, but the newborn hope in her heart was already beginning to wither. "You've been drinking with Doctor McCoy. You don't really mean it."

He stood up and she could sense that he was a little embarrassed. "I am not impaired," he said, "if that is what you are suggesting. I meant precisely what I said—however, that reminds me. I brought you back a small piece of McCoy's chocolate cake. I believe it will do you no harm to eat it."

T'Beth put a robe over her pajamas and followed him down into the living room. There the promised cake awaited her, along with a glass of milk. Lauren smiled and winked at her from the sofa where she sat holding a shiny flute. T'Beth almost returned a tentative smile, but she was not willing to let herself be won over so easily. Smiles were cheap, and so were words. She took her snack to the far side of the room.

Holding up the flute, Lauren told Spock, "I wish yours hadn't burned up." Father stood watching her with the all-consuming, possessive look T'Beth had come to know and detest so well. Only this time it didn't seem quite so irritating. Lauren positioned her fingers on the instrument and raised it to her lips. The tune was strangely melancholy, but pleasant. She lowered the flute and looked at Spock, her eyes shining. "We'll have to buy you another one. Meanwhile, how about a piano-flute duet?"

Spock considered. "More blues?"

"What are blues?" T'Beth had to ask. And she didn't know her father could play a flute, either. Was there anything he _couldn't_ do?"

He looked at her. "We must introduce you to Gershwin. You play the piano, do you not?"

Swallowing a bite of cake, she shrugged. "Just a little." Amanda had given her lessons, but T'Beth had never played in front of her father. After hearing how good he was, it would have been humiliating to display her puny talent. "I'm not going to make a career of it, that's for sure."

"One can appreciate music," he said, "without making a career of it."

T'Beth was not certain if his words were meant as an encouragement or a rebuke. For once she was glad when he turned his attention back to Lauren. Watching them, she could not help wondering what it would be like to permanently live together as a family, the three of them, in their very own home. To see her father every day, to get to know her stepmother and maybe even become friends. Would Spock really do that for her? Could she really trust him to leave the Enterprise and take a ground assignment?

T'Beth thought back to the painful memories of early childhood, when she had answered to the name Cristabeth. Always there had been a gnawing sense of loneliness, of loss. She had never known her mother. She was barely old enough to reason when disease began taking a toll on her grandmother. She remembered the fear that tore at her as she helplessly watched Mama Justrelle's slow decline. And then, the terrible day Mama took her aboard the starship and handed her over to a stranger named Spock. How she had hated him! And since then she had been bounced from relative to relative, from planet to planet, every move fanning up the anger and hurt that refused to die completely. When she thought of all the years that had been lost…

T'Beth felt the tears coming again and hurried upstairs.

oooo

The first day of July dawned warm and brilliant, with no sign of the morning fog that had shrouded the beach for days. It promised to be an unusually warm day on the coast. Everyone was up early, each dealing with the nervousness of anticipation in his or her own way. No one, it seemed, was very interested in food—there would be plenty of that later. Spock flew his skimmer to the base and went aboard the Enterprise where he would spend some time checking on the many repairs in progress, and settle his mind with meditation. Lauren put on shorts and an old baggy shirt and went striding up the beach.

As the sun grew hotter, T'Beth donned a swimsuit, and though she had been told not to go into the ocean alone, swam out anyway. Lauren was the first one back. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she gazed out at her soon-to-be stepdaughter bobbing around in the waves and experienced a stab of fear. "What are you doing?" she called to her. "Come out of there! Time to get ready!"

An unfamiliar groundcar and skimmer appeared out front, and the preparations began. T'Beth recognized Janice Rand from Starfleet. The other, older woman was Lauren's mother, Elizabeth—tiny and birdlike, with youthful eyes and a wry sense of humor. The visitors fussed and fidgeted over Lauren until they were completely satisfied with her appearance. And T'Beth had to admit it. The bride _was_ beautiful. Her simple cream-colored gown, with its touches of lace, suited her perfectly. Her hair swept from her brow into a circlet of fresh, fragrant gardenias, leaving the rest hanging over her shoulders in golden waves.

They were downstairs, preparing to leave, when Spock arrived unexpectedly. While aboard ship he had changed into the dress uniform of a captain, his official rank when not acting as Kirk's executive officer. Over his jacket he wore the IDIC pendant of clan Talek-sen-deen. Looking very handsome, he walked up to Lauren and gently touched her cheek, right there in front of everyone. Their eyes held in a way that made T'Beth uncomfortable.

"Bad luck," Janice warned.

Still gazing at him, Lauren softly said, "Not for a Vulcan."

"Well," remarked Lauren's no-nonsense mother, "even Vulcans must get to their weddings on time."


	3. Chapter 3

It was noon at the Vulcan embassy in San Francisco. All the glass doors of the solarium had been pushed aside, creating areas from which the guests could watch the ceremony in relative comfort. T'Beth stood closest, with her grandmother Amanda, grandfather Sarek, and Aunt Doris. Doctor McCoy positioned himself right behind her.

Inside, Vulcan attendants waited amid the polished granite blocks, their gongs and bell racks reflecting the scarlet-tinted sunlight beating down. At the center of the sand garden, a robed Vulcan woman stood beside a fire pit. Sweet, spicy incense rose from the hot coals.

Suddenly the gongs were struck. Side by side, Spock and Lauren walked over the swept sand and stopped in front of the healer. Captain Kirk entered the solarium and took his place near Spock. T'Beth became aware of McCoy's hand settling over her shoulder.

T'Mira's sharp eyes appraised the couple. "Who is this," she demanded, "that comes to stand before me?"

One at a time they answered her. "Spock, son of Sarek, son of Skon." "Lauren, daughter of Elizabeth, daughter of Phyllis."

The healer's expression remained unchanged. "What does thee ask of me?"

Spock replied, "We ask for the bonding of Vulcan marriage."

There was a meditative pause. Then extending her right hand, the healer said, "Give me your thoughts."

Spock and Lauren went to their knees in the warm sand. The silence was complete as T'Mira's fingers briefly touched Spock's face and then that of his bride. Apparently satisfied, the healer signaled an attendant who stepped forward holding a white sash embellished with Vulcan symbols. Solemnly the healer joined Spock's left hand to Lauren's right, palms pressed to palms, wrists interlinked. Using the sash, she bound their arms together.

The attendant returned to his post. A gong rang out, a single deep note that vibrated through the feet of the guests. T'Mira stretched out her arms. Her hands hovered above the heads of the pair kneeling before her. "As it was in the dawn of our days," she intoned, "as it is today, as it will be through all our tomorrows, you make your choice."

Her strong hands moved to the faces of the bride and groom, fingers once more seeking out the ancient points of mental contact. All three closed their eyes. Spock's face was impassive. Lauren's expression reflected a momentary discomfort, and then she seemed to relax. The healer remained in a deep state of concentration for a moment longer before removing her hands.

Lauren turned her head and looked into Spock's eyes. Together they stood. A brief murmur went through the assembled guests, but was stilled as an attendant came bearing a small crystal goblet and a decanter. As T'Mira poured the green liquid, Spock looked at Kirk and held out his unfettered right hand. Kirk gave him the ring and left the solarium. Carefully Spock slipped the golden band onto Lauren's finger. She smiled.

The healer held the filled goblet before the couple. "Shayo," she pronounced, "green and warm as Vulcan blood. It is the custom of our people to drink in this manner. One and together, you will share from the cup of life."

"Let it always be so," Spock and Lauren recited together.

Spock drank from the ritual cup and passed it to Lauren. When she finished, he removed the sash from around their arms and used it to wrap the drained goblet. To the surprise of the guests, he then dropped it on the sand and with one stroke crushed the delicate glass under his boot.

Bell racks shook in celebration. The gongs were struck. As the healer and attendants withdrew, guests surrounded the newly joined pair with laughter and congratulations. Lauren beamed and even Spock showed the beginnings of a pleased smile.

"Nice touch," Uhura said, "breaking that glass. I didn't know Vulcans do that, too."

"We do not," Spock replied. "It was…a human touch."

Lauren said, "He was supposed to strike a gong with a stone hammer."

"So I recall," McCoy murmured, running a finger around the collar of his dress uniform. "Whew! It's hot as Vulcan's Forge in here. Isn't there any place cooler?"

Kirk's face shone with perspiration. "I'm with you, Bones. Let's head for the reception hall."

Soon most of the guests were heading in that direction. As the crowd thinned, Sarek and Amanda approached the newlyweds.

Spock inclined his head respectfully. "Father. I present to you my wife, Lauren Fielding. Mother, I believe you already know her."

Amanda and Lauren smiled at one another.

"Yes," Amanda said. "We've spent some time together. These are definitely happier days."

"A lovely wedding," Sarek said. "A lovely bride."

"Most kind," Spock responded formally.

"We're so glad you could both be here," Lauren said warmly. "I know we didn't give you much notice."

Amanda looked at her son and new daughter-in-law with affection. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Spock, you've chosen well. She's beautiful."

Spock's parents moved on. Evading the other guests, Lauren ducked into a vacant room and pulled him in behind her. "Spock, " her eyes shone at him, "your _father._ You never told me he was so adorable."

"Adorable?" Spock repeated in a dry tone. "I have never though of him in quite that way."

"It must be where you get it from," she quipped.

"Lauren," Spock reproached her fondly, "I think Vulcan brandy does not agree with you."

"Oh, but it does. _Especially_ the Vulcan kind." Drawing closer, she fondled the back of his neck and gazed into his warm brown eyes. "I honored _your_ customs," she softly said, "so now you'll have to honor one of mine. Perhaps you've heard of it. It's called 'kissing the bride'."

His eyebrow climbed. Placing his hands on the curve of her back, he said, "Fair is fair. It would not do to neglect such a venerable tradition." Then bending down, he kissed his bride thoroughly.

oooo

By now all the guests had found their way to the reception. A large hall had been formed by retracting the walls between several elegantly furnished rooms. There were flowers in abundance and buffets of both human and Vulcan dishes. If anyone felt the lack of alcoholic beverages, they did not complain about it. Seldom had such an interesting mixture of people sat at table together. Conversation hummed. Though one face among the part was less than congenial, no one seemed to notice. No one, that is, but the guests of honor.

As the meal progressed, Spock became increasingly aware of dark glances directed at him by Lauren's twin brother at the far end of their table. Laurence Fielding had not once spoken to him and had only approached Lauren when Spock was not at her side. Spock knew that Reverend Fielding did not approve of the marriage, and he knew why. Some time ago, Lauren had told her brother of certain incidents that cast Spock in a bad light, and since then she had been unable to convince Laurence that Spock had not really been at fault. Even before the misunderstanding, Spock had never felt entirely comfortable around the priest, either. He did, however, respect Fielding's work among the children of Gamma Vertas IV. As a goodwill gesture he and Lauren had requested that donations be made to the priest's Salesian mission in lieu of wedding gifts. Apparently the gesture had failed.

It seemed to Spock that courtesy demanded he speak to his new brother-in-law and at least made an attempt at peace. People were starting to leave the tables. After a few minutes Fielding also got up and wandered down the hall. Spock quietly asked Lauren to stay where she was. Feeling her eyes on him, he excused himself from the table and went after the priest. At his approach, Fielding squared his shoulders and let his arms drop to the sides of his black clerical suit.

"Reverend Fielding," Spock said in greeting.

The priest's response was a curt, "Captain."

Spock hesitated at the overt look of hostility on Fielding's face. "Sir, I realize that you disapprove of our marriage, but it was kind of you make the journey here for Lauren's sake."

Fielding gave a short, derisive laugh. " 'For Laurie's sake'," he said through clenched teeth, "I have to wish you both well—but I'm not going to pretend I like you…or that I didn't try my damndest to talk her out of this…this monumental mistake."

The sheer venom of the attack took Spock by surprise. "I…am sorry you feel that way," he said sincerely.

" _Sorry!"_ Fielding's voice rang out. "Well, Mister High-and-Mighty Starfleet hero, _I'm_ sorry, too—but I'm just not comfortable with the idea of Laurie marrying someone who's knocked her around—someone who'll do _anything_ to get his way."

Spock became aware that his mother and Jim Kirk were coming over and may have overheard. Stiffly he said, "Sir, I suggest we continue this conversation in private."

Red-faced with anger, Fielding snapped, "I don't care _who_ hears this! Go ahead—deny it ever happened. Of course not, you've _never_ hurt her—not ever—not even at Mega Morbidus. Or don't you _remember_ anymore?"

Kirk and Amanda came to a stop, openly listening. Spock was growing tired of references to his faulty memory, and Fielding's tone made it all the more annoying. With his own share of anger he said, "I am _fully_ aware of the incident." He did not look at his mother. He did not want to see the shock on her face. And now, drawn by the sound of argument, others were watching.

" 'Aware…of the _incident'_ …" The priest's mood further darkened and his voice raised another notch. "That's all it is to you—an _incident?_ I gave you sanctuary on mission property and for thanks you turned around and—"

Spock's hands were clenching into fists when Kirk stepped in. "Gentlemen," he said quietly, "let's calm down here. I was in command at Mega Morbidus. Spock was not responsible for anything that happened there."

"Says the best man," Fielding remarked with deep sarcasm, his eyes locked on Spock.

Lauren came running from the other end of the hall. "Larry!" she called out.

Fielding turned his anger on her. "Laurie, how could you marry him after what he did to you?"

Lauren's eyes flashed. "Why won't you listen? I've told you it wasn't his fault! How dare you come here and—"

Spock restrained her with a touch. "It is alright," he said, keeping a close watch on the priest. "He only means to protect you…but he is leaving now."

"Well, I don't need protecting." Lauren glared at her brother. "He has no right to talk to you that way."

The priest turned his back on her and strode out of the embassy.

Midway down the hall, a small orchestra had been tuning up. Now it began playing a Strauss waltz.

Lauren sighed and said to Spock, "By tradition the first dance is ours, but why don't I take a turn with Jim while you talk to your mother?"

Kirk looked surprised. "Spock, you _dance_?

The Vulcan merely nodded and said, "Yes, certainly," answering both their questions at once.

As Kirk and Lauren took off dancing, other people began to pair up and take advantage of the music. Kirk looked with concern at his partner. Lauren's eyes were troubled, her cheeks still flushed from the confrontation.

"You can tell me to mind my own business," he ventured, "but if you want me to talk to your brother..."

"You're right," she said shortly, "it's not your business." Without skipping a beat they smoothly continued down the hall. "But I'm going to explain something because I want you to know this was not all Larry's fault." With another sigh she disclosed, "It was after Spock died. I was grief-stricken, angry. Larry was being sympathetic, and I just couldn't stand it. So…so I said some pretty harsh things about Spock."

Kirk missed a step. "Spock knows about that?"

Lauren's hand tightened on his arm. "Of course. I tried smoothing things over with Larry, telling him how it really happened…but he just doesn't buy it. At this point he thinks it's some kind of Starfleet cover-up to save Spock's reputation."

It made no sense to Kirk. "But why would you marry someone who deliberately hurt you?"

Lauren blushed. "He knows that Vulcans can telepathically influence people. You see, I once told him a little story about _that,_ too…"

Across the hall, Spock took a moment to calm himself, then clasped his hands behind his back and faced Amanda. "Mother, I am sorry you had to witness that," he began, but found that under the circumstances there was little more he could say. "It was…an unfortunate distortion of the facts."

"Yes," she said kindly, "I'm sure it was a distortion."

The awkwardness of the moment was compounded by the arrival of a small, sprightly woman. With trepidation Spock looked into the eyes of Lauren's mother, but instead of condemnation he found a good-natured concern.

"That boy!" Elizabeth Fielding declared, throwing up her hands. "This is all he's talked about since your engagement. Spock, I apologize for my son. He's a priest. He should be a peacemaker, but…well, he's always been very protective of Laurie and he has a hot temper like his departed father."

Relieved, Spock inclined his head to her. "You are a gracious woman, Mrs. Fielding. Please believe that I would never intentionally do anything to harm your daughter."

"Ah, such manners," she said, turning to Amanda. "Did you teach him that? Perhaps it's a good thing that he's an older man, although—she winked—he doesn't _look_ it. I know he'll appreciate my Laurie. He'll treat her well."

"I hope not to disappoint you," Spock said.

Eyes twinkling with humor, Elizabeth waved her little fist at him. "If you do, you'll have more than Larry to contend with. I will personally rap you on the head with my knuckles." Then she was off, leaving Spock's composure ruffled and his mother chuckling.

"I like her style," Amanda said, watching Elizabeth flit among the guests. She continued to peer down the hall as if looking for someone. "Spock. Have you seen T'Beth?"

oooo

It had been a very warm walk from the Vulcan embassy to Starfleet Medical Center. T'Beth welcomed the coolness of the east wing as she entered and rode the lift to the third floor. She found Lelia Chan sitting up in a chair beside the window, her singed hair freshly cut in a short, attractive style.

"Look at you!" T'Beth said excitedly. "You're out of bed! And your hair—it's great!"

"Look at yourself," Lelia said in return. "T'Beth, you're gorgeous."

"You think so?" Sobering, T'Beth turned and stared at her reflection in the hospital mirror. As always, she saw too many similarities to her father, but the ribbons braided into her sleek dark hair really were rather pretty, and the dress was not bad, either.

"So…how was it?" Lelia asked impatiently. "How was the wedding of the century?"

T'Beth turned around and shrugged. "I don't know. Okay, I suppose."

"But?"

"There was this Vulcan woman who went into both their minds and somehow linked them." Even the memory made T'Beth uncomfortable. "I…I didn't like it. It was almost as if…as if they were doing something dirty…right there in front of everybody."

Lelia's eyes widened. "Is that how Vulcans do it? With their minds?"

T'Beth felt herself blushing and changed the subject. "Here," she said, handing over a small, napkin-wrapped packet. "I brought you some goodies from the buffet. I can't stay, though."

"Thanks," said Lelia, obviously disappointed that the visit was so brief. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Sure. I'll be back with my aunt. She'll bring me to work."

At that, T'Beth gave the girl a quick hug and went out the door. As she exited the building, the heat from the walkway hit her like a slap in the face. She hurried down the street. Leaving the reception had been a reckless idea. Someone was bound to notice that she was gone. And sure enough, as she started through the embassy gate, her eyes settled on a uniformed figure standing just off the porch in the blazing July sun. Stopping, she stared at her father with annoyance. He always seemed to find out, didn't he?

Coming slowly toward her on the walkway, he said, "I see you have decided to return."

T'Beth closed the gate, took a deep breath, and faced him. "I…went to the medical center…to visit a patient." Even when she told the truth, it sounded like a lie.

"Indeed," he said. "It would have been thoughtful if you had informed me of your plans."

"I…I figured you'd say no," she stammered.

The embassy door opened. Music drifted into the courtyard as Lauren looked out at them. Obviously relieved, she said, "You've found her."

"Yes," Spock answered. "I believe she about to tell me that she has no further plans to alarm anyone—at least for today." He prompted T'Beth with a sharp look. "Is that not so?"

Irritated, she said, "I was only gone for a few minutes."

"Ah." Spock nodded. "A few minutes only. And that, in your formula of logic, excuses you."

The sun beat down on T'Beth's skin. She was hot and thirsty and on the verge of telling him exactly what he could do with his infernal sarcasm. "Look," she snapped, "I'm back, alright? Do you have to know where I am every minute? I told you, I just went to the hospital. If you don't believe me, check it out. I passed through security."

Lauren backed into the embassy and shut the door. Somehow, with her gone, T'Beth did not feel quite so bold. Her stomach tightened as her father stepped up to her. Heart hammering, she stared at the gleaming IDIC pendant where it rested against his uniform.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Lifting her chin, she looked. His eyes were every bit as forbidding as she had expected. They made her feel as if she was six years old instead of sixteen, and it was not a feeling she liked.

"T'Beth," he said predictably, "you know what is expected of you—and the reasons for it. Yet you continue this immature practice of making excuses for misbehavior."

The blood rushed to her face. Instinctively her mind worked at finding still another excuse. "It's…it's just that—"

"No," Father said firmly. "I do not want to hear it. Go inside."

For once she gladly obeyed him. Inwardly stinging, she went to the refreshment table and consoled herself with a cold drink. In her absence the wedding cake had been cut. She envied the humans who could eat all they wanted without getting drunk off the sugar. It seemed like everything she did always had rules attached. Nothing was ever simple or easy.

Across the hall, Kirk spotted T'Beth standing near the refreshments and was struck by how dejected she looked. He had been avoiding her all afternoon. It had been difficult to hide the depth of his concern when she turned up missing. She was having such a hard time adjusting to her father's marriage, and Kirk hadn't been offering much in the way of help. He hadn't been able to, not with the way he felt every time he set eyes on her. He thought about it for a long time before he quietly came up behind her.

"Well," he said lightly, "I see you made it back in one piece."

At the sound of his voice she whirled and her eyes lighted up in a way that sent a thrill straight through him. Inwardly cursing, he struggled to control his expression. Neutral and pleasant, never mind those traitorous fingers of electricity tearing away at his insides.

"Yeah," she said a bit breathlessly. "Father was…not too pleased. It's hard getting used to having him around, always telling me what to do. But I guess I'll have to learn."

"Well, cheer up," Kirk tried to joke, "you won't have to put up with him much longer."

She frowned. "Oh. I guess he hasn't told you yet."

"Told me? Told me what?"

"Father's leaving the Enterprise to take a ground assignment."

Kirk's jaw dropped. "He…said _that?"_

She nodded.

Turning, he looked out over the guests. He could not find Spock anywhere. Then, in a flash of maroon and cream lace, he saw the Vulcan waltzing with his bride, waltzing quite nicely by the look of it.

T'Beth touched him on the sleeve. "Jim. Can you show me how to dance?"

Kirk's thoughts—and eyes—snapped back to Spock's daughter. Teaching her how to dance—now, wouldn't that be something. Pulling back from the temptation, he said, "It looks like your father's the one to ask. Better yet—" He spied a portly figure on a tour of the buffet table, and called out, "Scotty!"

The engineer looked up and smiled. "Aye, Captain."

"No!" T'Beth hissed into Kirk's ear. "Forget it."

There was no need to introduce the two. They had shared a memorable misadventure in the past. T'Beth pinched Kirk's forearm right through his uniform, but he pretended not to feel it. Leaving her in Scott's capable hands, he went looking for the Man of the Hour. Spock's bride had disappeared. The Vulcan stood alone, watching the unlikely sight of Mister Scott leading T'Beth in a dance step.

"Looks like it runs in the family," Kirk said, coming up beside him. He rubbed his smarting arm. "Spock, I'm impressed. Why, in all the years we've served together, I had no idea you were an accomplished dancer."

"My father considered it a useful diplomatic skill," Spock said almost apologetically, "and he intended for me to be an ambassador."

As if cued by their son's words, Sarek and Amanda came waltzing into sight. Spock's mother seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, but it was clear that—as with every area of his life—the Vulcan ambassador took dancing very seriously."

"I see your father has kept up his own diplomatic skills," Kirk wryly observed. "But Spock, what's this T'Beth told me? I'm going to lose my first officer?"

Spock swung around and looked at him, then stared across the hall at his daughter. Obviously distracted, he said, "I…I have made no definite plans at this time, Captain."

"She seems to think otherwise," Kirk persisted. Before he could say more, Spock's parents broke out of the waltz and started toward their son. "Looks like a meeting of the dance committee," Kirk said low. "If you'll excuse me, we'll continue this discussion later."

Grateful for the interruption, Spock met his parents.

"Your mother is tired," Sarek said. "We are going up to our room to rest."

Spock regarded his mother with concern. Being human, she was much frailer than Vulcan women her age.

Amanda gave him a reassuring smile. "I see that look. Don't worry, Spock, it's only a little flight lag."

"Business detained me on Vulcan until the last moment," Sarek said. "We only arrived this morning, but we will remain here through the month of July."

"Then I will see you again." Spock lowered his eyes discreetly as he thought, _after the ToiChana—the interval of bonding._

"I look forward to it," Amanda said. "Spock, I want you to know how pleased, how proud I am that you've taken such a wonderful wife."

"I have spent some time speaking with her," Sarek said, "and I must say that I, too, am favorably impressed by Doctor Fielding." He hesitated before adding, "I believe she would serve well as the wife of an ambassador."

Before Spock could react, his mother said, "Is it true? Spock, are you really resigning from Starfleet?"

Spock was momentarily taken aback. "I presume that is what T'Beth told you."

"No," Amanda said. "It was that charming Starfleet commander with the Russian accent."

"Chekov," Sarek pronounced.

Spock's eyebrow climbed. "Fascinating. It is, however, nothing more than a rumor."

"I see," Sarek said without expression.

Amanda gave her husband a sad, fond smile. "Your father was hoping you'd consider the Vulcan diplomatic corps. He never gives up."

Spock took leave of his parents and went striding up the hall, looking for T'Beth.

Lauren saw him pass by and sensing a problem, tried to intercept him, which was not easy in dress shoes. Struggling to keep pace, she said, "Spock, what is it?"

Barely slowing, he replied, "Our daughter has been spreading some rather interesting tales."

"In trouble…again?" Lauren looked at him, or rather, at his back in disbelief. "Well," she said to herself, "what did _our_ daughter do _this_ time?"

Spock passed an arrangement of flowers and found T'Beth seated beside Aunt Doris on an upholstered bench. He came to an abrupt halt. "T'Beth," he beckoned in a stern tone.

She gazed up at him warily. "Yes?"

"How many people have you told that I am resigning from Starfleet?"

There was sharp intake of breath from Lauren, who had caught up. T'Beth took a moment to think before shaking her head. "Nobody."

"Nobody?"

"Not that you were resigning. But I…I did tell Aunt Doris and Jim and a couple of others that you're leaving the Enterprise."

Spock felt such a surge of exasperation that he was tempted to shout at her, but Vulcan discipline held him back.

"T'Beth," Lauren said gently, "where did you get such an idea?"

"From _him."_ She nodded at her father. "Last night he said…" The word choked into silence.

Lauren drew Spock aside and spoke to him in a stage whisper. "What did you tell her?"

He considered. "We were discussing the prolonged family separations that are part of starship duty. I told her the situation was not acceptable and I would see what could be done. Nothing more."

Lauren searched his face. "Well…what _is_ there to do other than take a ground assignment?"

"I have not had enough time," he said, "to give it proper consideration."

"Well, apparently T'Beth has," Lauren pointed out.

Spock sighed. Taking a moment to collect himself, he went back to his teary-eyed daughter. He never knew what to think of her emotional displays. In some instances she was probably sincere, but over the years she had also used tears to elicit sympathy and escape punishment. Keeping his tone neutral, he said, "I should have advised you that our conversation was private. It is a family matter—one that will take time to consider and arrange, should I decide to leave the Enterprise. It may be, however, that there is some other solution."

Her face set in the angry, distrustful expression he knew too well. "Some other solution? Then you're still going away on the tenth?"

"Yes," he replied.

Doris gave T'Beth's fist a squeeze. "Be patient, dear. Spock's right. These things take time, he can't just jump ship."

T'Beth's eyes flamed at him. "You're trying to back out of it—aren't you? Well, why not? Go ahead! I never really wanted you around, anyway."

"T'Beth!" admonished Doris. "That's no way to talk to your father."

T'Beth jumped up from the bench. "What difference does it make? He doesn't care about me. He never has!" At that she stalked away, leaving a troubled silence.

"Spock, I'm so sorry…" Doris said.

Lauren watched the angry girl duck out of sight. Meeting Spock's eyes, she read the pain that perhaps only she could see, and she made a decision. "I want to talk to her."

He nodded.

Lauren found T'Beth off in a corner by herself, slumped in a brocade chair. At the sight of Lauren she turned her face away, but not soon enough to hide the faint streak of a tear track. Lauren sat in a chair beside her.

"Leave me alone," T'Beth warned in a low voice.

"No," Lauren told her, "not after what you said back there. Not until you explain something to me. T'Beth—I want to know—why don't you trust your father?"

She made a sound of disgust. "Go ask _him_."

"I'm asking you."

"Why? Don't you believe what he says, either?"

Lauren was trying hard to be patient. "T'Beth," she said as gently as she could, "are you telling me that he's lied to you?"

T'Beth wiped her face with the back of her hand, then looked at Lauren through damp lashes. "His whole life is a lie. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

The words chilled Lauren. "What are you talking about?"

T'Beth made no reply.

"I don't believe you _know_ what you're talking about," Lauren told her bluntly. "It's one thing to express yourself, but it's an entirely different matter to deliberately try and hurt someone. Oh, I've seen how you act. You ignore every good thing your father does for you and blame him for every bad thing that's ever happened in your life. _That_ , my dear, is living a lie."

T'Beth's eyes narrowed with fresh anger. She stood. "You're just like him. Everything's my fault, always my fault. Well, I don't care—I'm leaving. I'm going to ask Aunt Doris to take me home."

"Yes," Lauren said. "That's a very good idea."

After the girl left, Lauren leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She recalled what Spock had told her at Yosemite. He was right. T'Beth could be vicious. It hurt her to see T'Beth rip into her father. She knew what damage the girl could inflict on the supposedly unfeeling Vulcan. She had lost patience with T'Beth, with Larry, with anyone else who was too blind or self-absorbed to see the overwhelming goodness in her husband.

Janice Rand came over and plopped into the seat T'Beth had vacated. "Storm's brewing, I see. What's the matter—isn't T'Beth succumbing to your motherly charms?"

Rousing herself, Lauren pressed her fingertips to her temples. "Life's a regular fairy tale, Jan. And now I'm officially the wicked stepmother."

"What's that make her? Cinderella?"

Lauren had to smile.

"That's better. Look, Laurie, why don't you grab that husband of yours and go to the beach house? I'll finish up here."

Lauren gazed at her friend with appreciation. "Jan, I don't know how I could have managed all the wedding plans without your help. Have I said thank-you?"

"Only about a dozen times, but you can keep on thanking me. And then you can thank me for pestering you into going back to Spock when you were afraid he didn't even remember you anymore. I told you he was only holding back, same as you. Didn't I?"

"You make it sound so simple, but it's been a long, bumpy road…"

"Well, it'll smooth out now, just wait and see."

Suddenly the orchestra fell silent. Turning in her chair, Lauren looked down the hall and saw Doctor McCoy whispering in the conductor's ear. At the first notes of the Tennessee Waltz, he walked straight toward her, wearing his most charming southern smile.

"Madame bride," he drawled, bowing from the waist with a flourish, "would ya do me the honor…?"

Lauren's heart warmed. Setting aside her worries, she took McCoy's proffered hand and danced off. McCoy was quick on his feet, graceful, and for a time they moved to the music without speaking. Then McCoy said, "Well, Mrs. Spock—no, that doesn't sound right. What the blazes am I supposed to call you, anyhow?"

"You know very well that the family name is S'chn T'gai," she said, stumbling like all humans over the difficult Vulcan pronunciation. "I'll stick with Fielding most of the time."

"Doesn't that make Spock 'Mister Fielding'?" he teased. Not waiting for a reply, he said, "Okay, Mrs. Fielding. Tell me now—the Vulcan truth. Are you happy?"

Despite all the ups and downs of the day, she answered without hesitation. "Happier than I can ever remember."

"It shows. You look absolutely radiant. Why, if I were Spock, I wouldn't waste one more second hangin' around this old place…"

"Doctor," she chided.

"I mean it," he said firmly. "Spock's one helluva lucky Vulcan, and I hope he realizes it. But I want you to know, Laurie, if ever you need help—for whatever reason—I'm here."

As the dance came to an end, Lauren gave her boss a fond smile and held him close. "Thank you. I'll remember that."

oooo

It was sundown when Spock and Lauren arrived at the beach house, where they would remain in the seclusion of ToiChana for the coming week. The day was losing its warmth. A crimson glow filled the horizon, staining the restless ocean as far as the eyes could see. For a time they stood together on the old porch, silently gazing out over the water.

"Well," Lauren said at last, "I think we did alright for two people who aren't very fond of parties."

"It was an event to remember," Spock commented dryly.

Lauren frowned and shook her head. "Larry. I could have strangled him."

"I am glad you restrained yourself," Spock said. "The current prison uniform would not go at all well with your coloring."

Turning, she met his eyes with an intensity that stirred his blood. "We've been good for one another," she said, "haven't we? When I think back on how it used to be…"

Remembering, Spock nodded. "To me it sometimes seems that it was a different lifetime."

"For you it was."

"Yes…in a strictly physical sense," he agreed, "but sometimes even mentally it seems as if—" He stopped and searched his mind for areas of uncertain memory. "At times there is a sense of displacement…as if I am peering into someone else's past."

"Doctor McCoy's?" Lauren smiled, for she knew of the lingering resonance in both men, left by the brief sharing of Spock's katra. "From now on, we'll make our own memories."

A salt breeze carried the pleasing scent and sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore. Bending, Spock touched his lips to Lauren's forehead and was struck by the realization that this woman now truly belonged to him. "My wife," he said, very much liking the sound of it.

Her eyes issued a warm invitation and he ushered her into the house.


End file.
